


make it sound so pretty (even when it's not)

by problematic_pleasures



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat/Open, Endgame Spoilers Ahoy, F/M, Grief, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Moving On, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Peter is 16/17 Depending on If You Squint, Post-Endgame, Praise Kink, Semi Open Ended, Sexual Tension, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unsafe Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: sometimes I get so tired of getting tied up in my thoughts; you're the only one that often makes it stopPeter and Pepper find comfort in each other.





	make it sound so pretty (even when it's not)

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags!
> 
> This idea struck me and wouldn't leave me alone. Peter and Pepper finding comfort in each other post-Endgame was too good to resist. I'll probably end up writing more for them at some point.
> 
> FYI: Wrote this in mind w/ Peter being 16 but you could probably squint and tilt your head and see him as 17, if you wanna. 
> 
> This was written to the tune of [Hurts 2B Human by P!nk & Khalid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yat4q3r-aaw). Highly recommend listening to that while reading this. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of me rambling. Shout out to friends in my discord for encouraging this and thanks to my beta for a quick edit! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter knows Happy could and would drive him; he knows there’s are still plenty of AI-driven StarkCars that could take him; he’s _got_ other options.

He just prefers to drive himself—which is why he doesn’t visit Tony and Pepper’s log cabin until the fall of what is technically his junior year.

(He should be in college by now, but his schooling is just another victim of Thanos, albeit a mild one. At least Peter has all his friends, even if the fact they also got dusted is a little bittersweet.)

Regardless, he doesn’t visit the cabin until September, because that’s how long it takes him to save up enough money to get a late 90s beater car that has just enough life left in it to get him upstate. It’s not perfect, and May always tells him it’s a little silly (“How much are you really going to drive that thing in New York, anyway?” Which is logic he can’t argue with, but it doesn’t stop him from buying the car).

Pepper is waiting for him when his car finally rolls to a stop on the gravel. She gives him a tired smile as he clambers out, and says, “There’s lemonade inside.”

“Thanks,” he says, throat already tight and skin burning hot. Being here is immediately difficult, knowing that this was once Tony’s space. It feels like he haunts the entire home, even the spots Peter hasn’t seen, even though Peter never actually saw Tony here.

“Peter,” Pepper says, voice delicate. “Come here, honey,” she says before pulling him into a hug.

He goes easily and winds his arms around her. Tears dribble down his face and onto her baby blue sweater, but his throat is too choked up to let any apologies escape. He clings to her and inhales her perfume, something soft and mild, and wishes she was Tony.

“C’mon,” she says a few minutes or a few hours later. “Let’s go inside.”

It still takes another minute before Peter can bring himself to pull back. He wipes at the tears still clinging to his cheeks and knows his skin is red hot. “Sorry,” he rasps.

Pepper just shakes her head. “I get it,” she tells him. With a comforting hand on his shoulder, she steers him into the house.

And that’s how the visits start.

🕸️

Peter finds himself making the forty-minute drive any time he can, after that. If the city isn’t screaming for his help and if there’s no academic decathlon practice after school, he’s almost certainly burning rubber to get to the cabin. May isn’t especially fond of it, and Peter has to make it a point to stay home some nights so she and him can still get time together—but May seems to understand. For all that she never cared much for Tony, especially after she learned about the whole Spider-Man business, she understands what he meant to Peter.

So the visits become a regular thing. Each time, Pepper is waiting on the porch for him. Sometimes she brings the lemonade outside and they sit on the porch while they drink.

Sometimes she’s got Morgan cradled in one arm and Peter always says hi to the gentle, curious face that, when the light hits just right, looks almost scarily like Tony. Sometimes Pepper looks so sad and tired when Peter pulls up that he considers turning around, right until Pepper grins at him and wordlessly beckons him closer.

It’s nearing Christmas when she gives him the key.

“What’s this?” He turns the cool metal over in his palm again and again. He knows what it is.

“A key,” Pepper says with a wry smile. She gestures to the house. “You can come by any time, Pete. Even if I’m not here.”

Peter doesn’t say he’s not sure he could handle the empty cabin without Pepper or Morgan around. He curls his fingers around the key and holds it tight. “Thanks,” he manages to get out.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Pepper says. Her voice is buoyant, happy. “I was also wondering if you could babysit Morgan from time to time.”

Peter nods without thinking about it. “Yeah, of course. Just tell me when and where.”

Pepper smiles at him and the hand gripping his shoulder moves to ruffle his hair. “I knew I could count on you.”

Peter grins.

🕸️

Pepper just _gets_ it.

And sure, Happy and Rhodey probably would get it too; they were close to Tony. But the love in Peter’s heart, the kind that’s turned to ash and crystalized, painfully sharp inside his ribs—he’s pretty sure it’s a love only Pepper really understands. How it feels to be in love with Tony Stark, to lose him, to want him back so desperately.

They don’t really talk about it at length, but Peter thinks Pepper must know. The looks she gives him sometimes say so, that she knows he’s around because he misses Tony, and not for any other reason. Looks that say she knows he misses Tony because he loved him, wanted him.

She doesn’t seem to mind. Just offers Peter refills and lets him wander the cabin aimlessly sometimes and plays outside with him and Morgan.

🕸️

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Pepper asks one night after they’re washing up. Her voice is soft, not accusing. Just plain, flat.

“Like what?” Peter asks.

“Friends. Homework. Superheroing.”

“I still have all those things, or, uh, _do_ those things. Y’know.” Peter gives a one-shoulder shrug. “It’s not the same. Everyone’s sad, or, trying to figure out how to move on but none of us really know how.”

Pepper hums.

“Homework is easy,” he adds, even though he’s been struggling. Not that his assignments are hard but that everything else is, and it makes even picking up a pencil that more difficult. “And...I dunno, I guess there’s just not as much crime right now.”

“The decimation put a lot of things in perspective,” Pepper agrees. “I just don’t want to keep you from other things.”

“You’re not,” Peter says.

Pepper hums again, like she doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t argue.

🕸️

Peter wakes to the feeling of a weight lifting off his chest. Pepper’s hair is tied back with strands falling into her face, and Peter gets a whiff of her perfume as she lifts Morgan from his lap.

“How was she?” Pepper asks.

Peter struggles to stand, his body still weighed down with sleep. He follows Pepper as he yawns and rubs the sleepsand from his eyes. “She was great,” he whispers as Pepper slips into Morgan’s room. “No trouble at all.”

Pepper helps a drowsy Morgan into bed, tucks her in and presses a kiss to her forehead. “The smiley face drawn on your forehead says otherwise.”

“What, this?” Peter asks as he points at the red smiley face. “No trouble at all,” he says again.

🕸️

It’s not really that Peter enjoys being in the house; he was right, there are ghosts of Tony haunting every inch of the place. It feels like a home still, impossible not to with Morgan’s toys scattered around the place. But it’s not as warm or homely as Peter hoped. He gets used to it, though, because despite the chills crawling along his spine or the sadness filling up his heart, there’s very few places he’d rather be.

“Peter?” Pepper’s gentle voice draws him from his thoughts and keeps him from almost slicing the tip of his finger while cutting up carrots for dinner.

“Sorry,” he says on autopilot, grinning sheepishly at Pepper’s unimpressed smile.

“Sorry for almost chopping your own finger off?” She asks teasingly. “Trade me,” she says, taking the knife from Peter and passing a dozing Morgan into his arms instead.

Peter still feels a pit of fear in his stomach when he holds her. She’s so precious, and so smart, and his experience with kids prior to her is limited to Ned’s little siblings and the occasional kid he saves as Spider-Man. Which is to say, not a lot of experience. So Morgan tends to overwhelm him and leave him awed. Peter looks down at Morgan’s resting face, cheeks pink and brow furrowed. She’s getting big, and her birthday is coming up soon. Peter knows Pepper is worrying about it.

“Does she,” he starts. Pepper doesn’t stop cutting up the vegetables but she makes a curious, encouraging noise. “Does she like superheroes?” He asks. He braces himself for the worst.

“Yes,” Pepper replies softly. “She’s seen them on TV. She kind of understands who her dad was. I don’t...I didn’t want to keep that from her.”

Peter nods. “Maybe Spider-Man could make an appearance for her birthday?”

Pepper’s grin isn’t as brittle as he expected. “I was thinking of something small, actually. She doesn’t exactly have friends.” Regret colors Pepper’s voice. “So I was thinking maybe you, me, Happy. Just here, with a big old cake and something ridiculous for dinner.”

Peter grins and Morgan wakes up before he can respond.

“Cake?” Her sleep-heavy toddler voice is painfully cute. She rubs at her eyes, looks up at Peter with the usual heavy dose of scrutiny, before looking to Pepper.

“No cake right now,” Pepper says. She leans in and kisses Morgan’s forehead. “Peter and I were just talking about your birthday.”

Morgan squirms in his arms. He’s about to let her down when she turns and situates herself so she can pillow her head on his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmurs, already drifting back to sleep.

“Won’t she be up all night like this?” Peter asks, voice softer.

Pepper shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I get a full eight hours anyway.”

Peter opens his mouth to say something—what, he isn’t sure—but Pepper cuts him off.

“I was going to say,” she continues. “You don’t have to drive back every night, if you don’t need to. We have plenty of spare blankets. The couch is pretty comfortable. Tony picked it out specifically for late nights spent tinkering.” Her voice barely catches on his name.

Peter knows May won’t be thrilled—but, it’s probably better than driving back late at night. “Okay,” he says. “That’d be great.”

 

It’s not nearly as weird as it probably should be, piling blankets and pillows onto the couch as Pepper reads a bedtime story to Morgan. By the time Morgan’s bedroom door clicks shut and Pepper stands in the hallway, Peter is crawling into the cocoon of blankets. He’s not expecting it when he looks up to see Pepper standing just behind the couch, smiling down at him.

“Sorry,” Pepper says when he jumps at the sight of her. “I just wanted to say...thanks. For the last couple months.” She draws in a shaking breath and looks away. Even in the low light of the living room, Peter can see the tears shimmering in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without it. Without you. This house is so empty sometimes…”

Peter starts to sit up but Pepper clears her throat and takes a step back. “Sleep tight, Peter,” she says, “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

He nods and sinks back into the makeshift bed. “Night, Pepper.”

🕸️

Pepper’s a little drunk the day of Morgan’s birthday. Peter shows up early to help cook, but Happy will be there not too long after. Kid birthdays can’t go too late, anyway. Pepper looks up from her drink. The vegetables for dinner sit, unchopped and unseasoned, on the pristine countertop.

“Don’t tell Happy,” Pepper says, sighing into her next sip.

Peter blinks.

“He just worries,” Pepper explains. “I don’t want him to worry, today.”

Peter nods. “Okay. How about I get started on dinner?”

Pepper smiles and when he’s close enough, she tugs him into a hug. She smells like whiskey and her perfume and Peter sways a little closer. “Thanks, Peter.”

He’s fairly sure he feels the gentle brush of her lips over his temple.

🕸️

“Peter,” May starts. “Is everything okay?”

Peter looks up from his homework—or, more accurately, a blank page that’s meant to be his homework. “Yeah?” He asks.

May sinks into the chair across from him, reaches over his textbooks scattered across the kitchen table and grabs his wrist gently. “You’re hardly home anymore.”

Peter swallows guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he answers immediately. “Everything’s fine, it’s just…” In the front pocket of his jeans, his phone buzzes in the rhythm that tells him it’s Pepper. “Pepper’s just having a hard time. And I know that, that you are too.” Peter swallows again. He and May have danced around this conversation a lot since September, but he finally finds the strength to say, “But you got me back, and Pepper...Pepper didn’t get Tony back, you know?”

May smiles sadly. “I know, Peter. I’m not mad.” Her thumb is soft and shaking as it strokes the inside of his wrist. “Maybe invite Pepper over sometime, why don’t you? That way I get to see you more, and Pepper can get out of the house.”

Peter blinks. “Yeah?”

“I even promise I won’t try to make that turkey meatloaf again.”

Peter snickers. “And it’s okay if Morgan comes, too?”

“Of course.” May stands, letting go of Peter’s wrist, and comes around the table to wrap him in a hug instead. “I just want to see you more, Peter, that’s all.”

He hugs her back, tight. “Got it, May. I’ll talk to Pepper about it next time I head to the cabin.”

May drops a kiss to the crown of his head. “Sounds good.”

 

Peter buys a car seat first. He knows Pepper has one, but his car doesn’t, and he’s kind of hoping that Pepper will let him be the one to drive when he springs the idea on her.

“You’re early,” Pepper greets from the kitchen as Peter lets himself into the house.

“I have a question,” he calls back, voice already shaking a bit. There’s no reason to be nervous; the worst Pepper can say is no, and Peter wouldn’t fault her for that. All her times going out in public are weighed down by paparazzi and endless questions, requests for interviews, accusations thrown her way. It’s a miracle the cabin is still under wraps.

“Peter?” Pepper asks. She’s at the threshold between the kitchen and entryway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You had a question?”

“Do you want to come to dinner tonight? At my place, I mean.” He stammers the words out as quickly and smoothly as he can manage. “With May. Morgan can come too, of course.”

Pepper blinks. “Tonight?”

Peter nods. “Or, another night works too, but I got a car seat in case tonight would be good. I can drive us there. And drive you guys back.”

Pepper grins. She slings the towel over her shoulder and approaches him. “Peter, you didn’t have to do that. You could’ve called and I could’ve driven out there. Saved you some time and gas.”

“It’s really no problem,” he tells her.

Pepper tilts her head, contemplative. “Alright, dinner tonight sounds good. Can you help Morgan get changed? She’s probably in her muddy clothes from earlier,” Pepper says with a fond shake of her head. “It’ll take me a few minutes to change, too.”

“That’s cool. I’ll let May know.”

Pepper grins at him again before turning back into the kitchen. Peter starts to turn to head toward Morgan’s room, only to find the young girl already standing beside him.

“Where we going?” She asks.

“My house,” he tells her. He takes her hand when she offers it and they meander back to her room. “Your mom says you need to get dressed.”

Morgan huffs softly. “Okay.” She pushes at Peter’s legs until he sits on the edge of her bed. “You’re gonna help me?”

“Yep. You just tell me if you need me.”

Morgan nods.

 

Twenty minutes later finds Morgan in a SpongeBob shirt and lilac colored tutu thrown over a pair of crazily-patterned leggings, with Peter kneeling on the floor and somehow covered in glitter. Peter’s not even sure what he’s trying to do anymore—it’s not like Morgan can’t wear a tutu to dinner, it’s actually pretty cute—but he’s close enough for Morgan to slap another sticker on his cheek.

Surprised laughter from the doorway finally gets him to lean back. Pepper’s at the door with a smile on her face.

“You two have been busy,” she observes.

“Mom!” Morgan half-shouts, making a beeline for Pepper. Pepper stoops down and scoops Morgan into her arms, holding her at just enough a distance so no glitter can get on her comfortable looking jumpsuit.

“Someone needs to go wash up,” Pepper says.

“It’s Peter!” Morgan replies.

“It is Peter,” Pepper agrees, and Peter snorts. “It’s also you, missy. C’mon, let’s go.” She sets Morgan down and the kid is off like a shot, running to the bathroom down the hall. “You can use the master bathroom to clean up,” Pepper says as she strides into the room and helps pull Peter to his feet. “If you go with Morgan, I get the feeling there will just be a bigger mess.”

“I’m not even sure how this happened.” Peter gestures to the stickers littering his face and the spots of glitter clinging to his clothes.

“She’s a hurricane like that. She gets it from Tony.” Pepper laughs softly before the moment freezes, full of tension. Pepper blinks and seems to realize she’s still holding Peter’s hand, because she drops it and takes a step back. “Meet you by the door?”

“Uh, yeah.” Peter swallows and nods. Pepper leaves first, taking a right to head toward the bathroom where Morgan is already splashing around. Peter slips out of Morgan’s room and heads toward the left, down the hall to the one room of the house he’s never been in before. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he passes by the extravagant bed—an unsurprising thing for Tony to own, or maybe it was Pepper’s choice—and slips into the bathroom.

He peels off the stickers one by one, wincing slightly when the adhesive tugs at his skin; the glitter is next and takes a little more effort. By the time he’s patting his face dry, his skin is red and blotchy and his shirt is covered in more glitter than before.

Peter turns to see Pepper walking into the bedroom.

“Your shirt,” she says, walking over to him. “Sorry about her.”

Peter shrugs with a smile. “I’m used to it. She had fun, it’s okay. I’ll just change when we get to my place. Not like May will mind.”

“You sure?” Pepper looks over to the slightly ajar closet door. “There might be something…”

Peter shakes his head almost too fast; the idea of wearing Tony’s clothes is overwhelming. “No, no, really. It’s fine, Pepper.”

Pepper’s hand falls to her side. “Okay. Morgan is cleaned up. You sure you don’t mind driving?”

Peter beams. “Not at all!”

 

Dinner is good, if a bit awkward. May and Pepper haven’t spent any time together, really, but there’s no animosity. They get along great, and May’s really good with Morgan. May and Pepper share a bottle of Merlot while Morgan goes through two juice boxes and Peter sticks with water.

After the plates are soaking in the sink and the leftovers are boxed up, Pepper stands and stretches. “I should call a ride,” she says, smiling at Morgan where she’s asleep on Peter’s chest.

“I told you, I can drive you guys home. It’s Friday, I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Pepper looks to May who smiles and says, “I don’t mind. Peter’s a big boy, a good driver.”

“Yeah, he is. You sure, Pete?” Pepper asks as she faces him again.

“Positive.” With only a little trouble, Peter manages to stand without disturbing Morgan. “I might crash on the couch, if that’s okay. Head home in the morning.”

May stands too and leans over to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Just text me when you’re safe.”

He nods, and Pepper holds out her arms to take Morgan. She turns away toward the door and Peter pulls May into a quick hug, murmuring a quiet thanks into her shoulder before pulling away. She pats his cheek before shooing him away. “Drive safe,” she tells him as he catches up with Pepper by the door.

The walk down to the car is quiet, as are the first fifteen minutes of the drive, save for the sounds of Queens filling the night.

“Peter,” Pepper starts. She’s looking out the passenger window. Morgan is still asleep in the backseat. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What, spending time with you?” Peter can see Pepper gearing up to say more, so he starts talking first. “It’s not like I do it just for you,” he says, voice maybe harsher than needed. “I miss him too, you know?” His voice cracks. “Being close to you guys...helps. It doesn’t make it all better, and I know that you probably don’t want me around forever, but…”

Pepper’s hand on his, on the steering wheel, startles him. “Peter, I told you. You’re welcome any time. I just don’t want you to feel obligated. Morgan and I will be fine. Just like I told Tony, I’m telling you. We’ll be okay.”

Peter clears his throat, stopped up by the lump that’s formed. “I don’t know if I would be, though.”

Pepper’s hand tightens gently. “Okay,” she says. Her hand slips away from his as she relaxes into her seat again. “Okay.”

🕸️

The next time he comes over, it’s late and he hasn’t even had time to change out of his spidey suit.

Pepper is waiting at the door, all the lights in the house dim, and aims a disappointed frown at him. “Come inside,” she hisses quietly. She doesn’t sound angry—and Peter’s heard that before, when she’s been upset with Tony or Morgan—but the tone still ignites a shameful blush on Peter’s face under the mask. “Sit,” she says, pointing at the couch, already covered in his usual blankets and pillows.

Peter sits and watches Pepper leave, only for her to return with a first aid kit. “Pepper, you don’t have to. The healing—?”

“Shush,” she says, and her voice shakes. She sits on the coffee table across from the couch and balances the kit on her knees. “Suit off,” she says.

With only a slight wince, Peter retracts the suit, all of it coming to rest compact in a webshooter wrapped around his wrist. He takes that off, too, and Pepper plucks it from his hand to set aside. He’s left in his rumpled clothes from earlier, wrinkled jeans and a slightly torn shirt.

“Where are you hurt? And don’t lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Peter starts, only to fall quiet at Pepper’s sharp gaze. “Uh, my shoulder is sore. And I think,” he stops, brings his hand to his ribs and hisses in pain. He tugs up the hem of his shirt until the cut along his ribs is visible. “It’ll heal in a few hours.”

Pepper doesn’t say anything, just grabs the tube of Neosporin and the role of gauze from the kit and gets to work. Peter swallows his pain and lets her touch him, tugging his shirt and pinching his skin to test blood flow. He lets her guide him through stretches to test his range of motion—things he already knows but doesn’t say so. Peter doesn’t speak again until Pepper closes the first aid kit with a sharp _snap_.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think—?”

Pepper cuts him off in a hug. She yanks him close and holds him tight and suddenly his senses are full of the scent of her shampoo and the sound of her quietly crying and the warmth of her body pressing to his. He wraps his arms around her slowly, then holds her just as tight.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Shut up,” she tells him. “You’re okay.”

Peter nods, not that she can see it. “I am.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “He would stumble in after missions and the suit would come off and…” Pepper shivers and Peter rubs a hand soothingly along her back. “He didn’t have your healing factor. He was just human. And every time he’d say _sorry_ and _it won’t happen again_ , and we both knew he was lying.”

Peter swallows.

“He could never let it go, the hero thing.”

“I can’t either,” Peter says, quick if quiet.

Pepper finally pulls back. The smile she gives him in sad, tired, a little rueful. “I know.” Her eyes are red now. “You...you two were so alike.” Then, something must occur to her, because she lets out a burst of laughter. “But so different.”

Peter grins shakily. “Yeah?”

Pepper nods, laughing as she wipes at her eyes. “Yeah.” She doesn’t elaborate and Peter doesn’t press. “You must be starving. I’ve got some leftovers I can heat up.”

“Sure,” Peter says. “But I can do it, if you wanna get to bed.”

Pepper’s already on her feet. “It’s fine.”

Peter texts May, letting her know he’s safe, before he follows Pepper to the kitchen.

🕸️

They don’t talk about Tony that often; at first, it just hurts too much. The wounds are still too raw and the memories too fresh. By the time the year anniversary is encroaching on them, though, Peter wonders if they should talk about him more. It still hurts to think about, the hug and Tony’s stunned face when Peter appeared and the way the light fizzled out of the arc reactor...but it doesn’t sting the same way. It’s a throb, now. More like a skinned knee that’s still tender and less like a gaping bullet hole.

Peter isn’t sure Pepper is there yet, so he doesn’t bring it up.

 

He comes over the day before the year anniversary. He promised May he’d be home early enough the following day for them to spend time together, so it’s only two o’clock now. Which makes the pristine jar of dark scotch in front of Pepper all the more surprising. Peter stops in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Happy has Morgan tonight,” Pepper says through clenched teeth. Her fingers are curled tight around a tumbler with dwindling ice cubes and barely a finger of scotch left. “I couldn’t look at her today.” Pepper squeezes her eyes shut as she tilts her head back to the ceiling. “She looks more like him every day.” Her voice breaks in the middle.

Peter’s by her side in an instant, a hand on her shoulder. “Pep,” he says sadly, before freezing.

A renewed sob spills from Pepper’s chapped lips and it mingles with a bittersweet laugh. “Oh, Peter,” she sighs. She knocks back what’s left of her drink and pours herself another, a hefty share, so much so that Peter considers snatching the bottle from her hands but thinks better of it.

Pepper sips at the drink, then pauses. She tilts the glass to Peter. “How are you holding up?”

Peter actually laughs, a shaky and hysterical thing. “You’re really asking me that?”

“We both loved him,” Pepper says. “Just because I was married to him doesn’t mean I have a monopoly on missing him.”

Peter’s mouth goes dry. His throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m alright,” he says eventually. Before he can say anything else, Pepper is setting her drink down and turning to the cupboard that holds their glassware. She plucks another glass, identical to hers, and sidesteps Peter to get into the freezer for a handful of ice. Before he can protest, she’s poured him a helping of scotch too, albeit less than hers.

She raises her glass in a toast, a bitter grin splitting her lips. Peter reaches without thinking about it, without thinking about anything other than the ache in his heart, and picks up the glass.

The _clink_ of their glasses hitting sounds like a gunshot in the silence. They never break eye contact as they drink, even when Peter finishes sooner than Pepper. Pepper looks ready to finish her serving in a single sip again, but she has to stop and laugh when Peter grimaces at the taste burning his lips and tongue and throat.

“Oh god,” she says once she’s caught her breath. “Your face.” She shakes her head. “I forget...I forget how young you are, sometimes. Tony did too.”

“Not really,” Peter says, thinking of the terse moment after the ferry. Pepper is still shaking her head.

“You don’t take someone to fight Captain America if you see him as a kid, Pete.”

Peter swallows reflexively and reaches for the bottle of scotch. Pepper doesn’t stop him. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she says. She sounds fond and annoyed. “He talked about you a lot.” She looks at the ice cubes bobbing in her drink. “I hated it, sometimes. But only because I thought he was being reckless. Restraint, self-control, those were never Tony’s strong suit.”

Peter’s vision is swimming but he’s not sure whether it’s from the alcohol or Pepper’s tone. He sips at his drink instead of responding.

“I can see why he loved you too, though.” Pepper takes a drink. “It makes sense.”

Peter’s voice is little more than a rasp when he says, “Same. About you.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe not, but there’s a blush on Pepper’s cheeks. “I’m sorry he never got to tell you himself.”

Peter shrugs. “I still knew, about the important stuff at least.”

Pepper nods as she drains her glass once more. “Still. I wish you could’ve heard it from him.”

“It’s okay.” Peter takes another sip of his scotch and grimaces.

Pepper laughs softly again. “I’m sorry, I probably won’t be very good company tonight.” She brushes her hair from her face and looks sheepish, embarrassed. “It’s just…’

Peter steps closer and sets his glass aside. He takes Pepper by the elbows and waits until her red-rimmed eyes are focused on him. “It’s okay,” he says again. “I’m here, Pep.”

It’s a little more deliberate this time, if only for the brief flicker of delight that crosses Pepper’s face. Her bottom lip trembles and she practically falls into his arms, hiding her face against his hair since she towers over him. Peter grin for a second before he’s crying quietly too, Pepper’s pain bleeding into his own. He holds her close, strokes her hair, and they stay like that even as the sun starts to set.

🕸️

After that, amazingly enough, it gets easier.

 

 

He’s out with Pepper and Morgan when a song starts to play, one Peter doesn’t know. Pepper turns to Morgan, who’s busy intensely dunking chicken nuggets in ketchup, and says, “This was one of your daddy’s favorite songs.”

Peter freezes but Pepper just smiles at him. Morgan peers at Pepper with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” Pepper says. She combs her fingers through Morgan’s brown locks. “Maybe we can listen to the album in the car.” Pepper stares at Morgan for a moment longer before turning her gaze on Peter.

“Sure. I’ve got an aux cord.”

Pepper smiles.

 

 

“Your dad loved this movie,” Pepper whispers as they’re all crammed on the couch for movie night. Morgan is resting mostly in Pepper’s lap, and she’s half asleep but perks up at the mention of her dad. Pepper’s hand, which has been resting on Peter’s thigh for the better part of a half hour, tightens.

Morgan’s brow scrunches together in a way that’s adorable and painful, for how much she looks like Tony. “I like this movie too,” she says, like she’s not sure. Like she doesn’t quite believe it.

Pepper smiles. “Me too.”

Morgan leans back and grins, wide and toothy, up at Pepper. Then, she looks at Peter. “Do _you_ like this movie?”

Peter blinks, surprised by the accusatory tone. “Yeah, I love _WALL-E_.”

Morgan beams at him. “Good.” With that, she turns back to the movie, even as her eyelids start to droop.

Pepper’s hand squeezes his thigh, warm and soothing.

 

 

“Tony was saving this for a special occasion,” Pepper says as she drags a hefty bottle of dark liquor from a cabinet. “But I think it’s done gathering dust.” She looks over her shoulder at Peter and waggles the bottle. “What do you think?”

In response, Peter turns to the cupboard that he knows holds glasses, and grabs two short ones. “Ice?”

“He always said it would taste better neat.” Pepper untwists the bottle with dainty fingers and pours them each just under an inch of whiskey. It’s strong, Peter can tell without even lifting the glass to his face. “Cheers,” Pepper says. “To Tony.”

Peter swallows. “To Tony,” he agrees.

They drink and grimace together.

“Ice,” Pepper declares. “And maybe, ah,” she coughs and it turns into a laugh. “Tony would’ve hated this.”

Peter snorts and takes both their cups to the fridge and drops a couple ice cubes in each. When he turns around, Pepper is popping open a can of Sprite that she must’ve snagged from the cooler in the island.

“Anything helps, right?” Pepper says. She pours them a heftier dose of whiskey and tops it off with an equal splash of soda. They cheers again and it goes down only marginally smoother this time. They laugh again, and drink again, and when Peter spills a bit down his front on a sip gone wrong, Pepper wipes at his shirt with a wet cloth.

They laugh and they drink and they get closer and closer, until Morgan comes rushing out of her bedroom with toys, and they’re jolted back to reality. It’s getting late, and Morgan needs her bedtime story, and Peter’s too drunk to even think of driving home, elevated metabolism or not.

Pepper and Peter down their drinks and then Pepper goes to help Morgan to bed while Peter starts to make up his bed.

Pepper comes back not too much later and stands behind the couch. “Sorry about tonight.”

“Why are you sorry?” Peter asks. His words are slurred.

“Giving alcohol to a minor? Keeping you away from May another night?” Pepper shrugs. “Take your pick.”

Peter drops the blankets on the couch and walks around until he can take Pepper by the shoulders. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he tells her seriously, though he wrinkles his nose at the whiskey wafting off his breath.

Pepper giggles and her cheeks are flushed with intoxication. Her hair falls in front of her face and Peter pushes it behind her ear, lets his hand linger for just a second to cradle her head. Pepper leans closer and Peter can almost taste her.

Morgan lets out a loud laugh from her bedroom and Pepper sighs. “I’ll take care of her,” Pepper says as she steps out of Peter’s hold. “Get some rest.”

Peter nods and watches Pepper slip back into her daughter’s room.

 

 

“Morgan, baby, you’ve got a little,” Pepper starts before licking her thumb and wiping at the corner of her daughter’s mouth.

Morgan giggles and takes another bite of the pink-frosted donut that’s cut into pieces on her plate. The piece in her hand is almost too big, but she manages, and smears more frosting on her cheek. “Did Daddy like donuts?” She asks around a mouthful.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Pepper chides. “But yes, he did.”

“I remember when that article came out, with the pictures of him in the giant donut,” Peter says, the memory coming back to him sudden and vivid. He’d bought a copy of the newspaper and hung it up in his room for an embarrassing amount of time, especially given how grainy the photo was.

“Not his finest moment, but certainly iconic.” Pepper rubs at the back of her neck. She’s perpetually tilted, always watching Morgan, like if she doesn’t, the little girl might disappear. “Morgan, honey,” Pepper sighs. “Use your napkin, sweetie.”

Morgan does, but says, “Peter has stuff on his face too.”

On instinct, Peter swipes his tongue at the corner of his mouth and tastes vanilla. “Oh, sorry,” he says, reaching for a napkin.

Pepper’s thumb, slightly damp and exceedingly soft, startles him when it touches his cheek. She wipes away the remaining frosting. Pepper wipes her hand clean on a napkin. Peter clears his throat.

“Why is Peter’s face red?” Morgan asks, eyeing another piece of donut.

“No reason,” Peter chokes out.

Pepper just laughs.

 

 

All sorts of things come and go: Morgan’s birthday, Peter’s birthday, Pepper’s and Tony’s, anniversaries of death and the Stark-Potts wedding anniversary and a million other monumental days. Rhodey and Happy and Sam and Carol all stop by from time to time, but none of them stay for long; duty calls or, sometimes, the grief is just too constricting for them to stick around.

But Peter stays. He always stays.

And one day, finally, everything changes.

 

 

 

Peter’s buzzed as he sets up his bed on the couch. His pajamas slog around his feet and his sweatshirt is cozy. His thoughts are fuzzy as he drops blankets onto the couch and he’s ready to fall onto the pile of comfort, but his senses spike at the last second and a chill runs along his spine. He stops and turns to find Pepper standing in the hallway.

“Peter,” she says softly. Morgan is asleep, after all.

“Yeah?” He replies, equally quiet.

“You don’t have to take the couch tonight.”

Peter blinks. He moves without thinking. Between one breath and the next, he’s beside Pepper, with a hand thumbing over the lacy edge of her camisole. Her hand cups his cheek as he whispers, “Okay.”

She guides him down the hall to the bedroom and the door shuts with a quiet _snap_ behind them. It’s only his second time in here, because for as far as they’ve come in grieving, being in this space is overwhelming. Tony’s clothes are still hung in half of the closet, his watches still scattered over the top of the dresser. Little remnants of him linger here in ways they don’t through the rest of the house.

Before Peter can dwell on it too long, Pepper takes him by the hand and leads him to the bed. She sits first, scooting back until her long strawberry-blonde locks are sprawled across the pillow. Her camisole rides up and exposes a line of freckled skin on her stomach; her shorts slide too, revealing more of her bare thighs.

Peter feels distinctly sloppy in front of her and freezes at the foot of the bed.

Pepper smiles, sits up again, and beckons him closer. “Please,” she says, and Peter scrambles to her. She tugs at the hem of his shirt until he shrugs it off and then she’s shoving at his too-big pajama pants. He shimmies out of them awkwardly, kicking them over the edge of the bed.

Pepper wastes no time in getting her hands on him again, first his ribs then his abs, over the cut of his hips and the waistband of his boxers. Her perfectly manicured fingers trail up his body, leaving him shivering, until she can cup his face. She strokes her thumb along his bottom lip, then the line of his jaw.

“Please,” he whimpers.

And she finally kisses him. It’s a sweet and tender thing, a learning experience. Peter whines into the kiss and presses closer, relishing the way Pepper grins against his lips. Her hands shift and find their way into his hair, tugging at it and sending sparks of pleasure rocketing along his skin. He presses forward again until Pepper leans back and takes Peter with her, letting him slot between her open thighs.

She hitches one knee over his hips and pushes, makes his hips rock down into hers. He grinds his erection against her little silky shorts, brain short-circuiting at the sensation of wet heat that lures him closer.

“Peter,” she breathes, stretching his name out into a delicate moan.

“I don’t, I’ve never,” Peter stammers. “I want to—what should I do?”

Pepper lays back and smiles at him. “Trust your instincts, Pete.”

So he kisses her again, licks into her mouth and swallows her moan. He’s seldom done this but it feels easy enough, natural enough. Or maybe Pepper’s just a good teacher, full of patience as she guides him through it. Peter eventually breaks the kiss to cover her jaw in kisses, then her neck, along the collar of her camisole and tugging it aside to kiss and bite at her collarbone.

He’s rewarded with breathless gasps and sharp little noises, each accompanied by a gentle tug of his hair.

“You’re doing so good, Peter,” she tells him. A soft moan, and, “Hang on, let me.” She pushes him back long enough to sit up and drag her camisole off.

Peter’s mouth goes dry. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

Pepper’s smile is artfully bashful, crafted in a way that makes Peter’s dick twitch. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases before dragging him in again.

This time he can feel her nipples against his chest, pert and warm. He brings his hands to cup her breasts and thumb over the tight skin, breathing in her gasp. Peter retraces his steps down her jaw, her neck, past her collarbone to the space between her breasts. He kisses the flat skin there first, then lets his instincts lead him to the left.

Pepper shivers underneath him and arches her back. He takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks, biting at the pert skin before soothing the hurt with his tongue. It feels natural to do this, his instincts guiding him easily through the feeling of Pepper’s skin goosepimpling against his lips, through the way her stomach clenches with pleasure under him. He moans, muffled but uninhibited, and moans again when Pepper’s hand finds his hair once more and tugs hard.

“Other one,” she pants. “Too much,” she gasps, even as her eyes are heavy-lidded and she keeps arching closer for more.

Peter obeys though, and switches sides. He gives her left nipple the same treatment until it’s red and throbbing, and only then does he pull back.

Even though his face is burning red, he takes a moment to admire his work. Pepper only grins up at him dazedly, seemingly unabashed at the way her nipples are hard and deep red, bitten to the point of tenderness.

Peter moans. “You look…”

Her hand still in his hair tugs him closer, into a kiss. He melts into it and presses his body against hers. She hisses at the sensitive brush of her nipples over his chest but doesn’t make him pull away.

The kiss is long and slow and dirty, makes Peter pant and rut his hips forward, grinding his cock against Pepper’s thigh. She moans quietly and reaches between them; she curls his fingers around his length over the fabric of his boxers and he fucks into the loose circle of her hand.

“So sensitive,” she teases, practically feeding the words into his mouth. “C’mon, get these off.”

Peter scrambles to obey. He practically flings himself off of Pepper to wrestle out of his boxers and kick them aside. Before he can clamber back onto the bed, Pepper’s sitting up and curling one hand around his hip and the other around his cock.

Peter squeaks and his hips jump forward. “Oh, god.”

Pepper grins up at him. “You’re tense, Peter,” she says. “Let’s get you to relax.”

“I just wanna be good,” he says, stopping so abruptly his teeth clack together painfully. “I wanna make it good for you,” he amends.

Pepper leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of his dick before opening her mouth and taking in the head. She sucks gently for a few seconds, until Peter is swaying where he stands and dangerously close to coming embarrassingly fast.

“It’s okay,” Pepper murmurs. She leans in and kisses his stomach and traces her tongue over his abs. Peter’s body goes tense and his toes curl in the rug under the bed. “I want you to come, Peter. You’re doing so good.” Pepper squeezes his cock and strokes faster. She gathers precome on her palm to slick the way and even though it’s drier than Peter would use on himself, it’s also _perfect._

He lets out a wrecked cry, broken and whimpering, and— “Fuck, Pepper!” He thrusts forward as he comes, shooting across Pepper’s wrist.

Pepper lets her hand drop when Peter sucks in sharply. He looks down at her, swaying where he stands, and promptly forgets to breathe when she licks at the stripe of come covering her freckled skin. “Feel better?” She asks.

Peter nods. “You turn,” he says with more confidence than he feels. He bends down and crawls onto the bed; he backs Pepper up to the pillows again and quickly works his way down her body. He leaves random kisses and nips along her chest and sucks a love bite into the excess skin around her stomach before he hits the waistband of her silk shorts.

“Can I?” He asks.

Pepper raises her hips in answer and Peter drags her shorts down finally. Then, he freezes.

A gentle hand on his jaw, then Pepper’s whispering, “It’s okay Peter.” The _“you don’t have to”_ goes unspoken.

“I just don’t wanna mess up,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I want, I want to make you feel good, Pep.”

Her legs tense up and she squirms. “No matter what you do,” Pepper tells him, “I’m sure I will.” She pets his hair and tugs gently at it before smoothing his locks out again.

Peter swallows and nods. “Just, uh. Tell me? If I’m doing something wrong?”

Pepper grins. She lifts her leg to hook it over his shoulder, the motion dragging him closer, so his chin brushes the mess of curls on her mon, so he can inhale the heavy scent of her arousal. Peter swallows again then dips his head and seals his lips over her clit.

It’s heady, the scent and heat of her. He’s feeling dizzy and crazed, shocked because—because this is new, this isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do, not here and not with Pepper. He moans, because he loves it. He opens his mouth and presses his tongue flat against Pepper’s clitoris and listens to her slow inhale and the shuddering moan.

“Doing good, Peter,” she whispers to him. “A little harder.”

He obeys and gets rewarded with a louder whine, her heel digging into his back. He licks again and again and lets Pepper rut against his face to chase her own pleasure. Her hand is back in his hair and guiding him, angling him or keeping him still as she pleases.

“Peter,” she gasps; she’s got her other leg thrown over his shoulder now and her thighs tense around his head. “Can you, ah, _ah_ ,” she moans softly, delicately.

Peter isn’t sure how he knows, but he does. For a moment, Pepper’s voice—the one not tied up in moans and gasps—echoes in his head and says _“trust your instincts.”_ He slips two fingers into her slowly but surely and that’s when Pepper’s wail turns into a moan.

Her hips rock forward and the hand in Peter’s hair drag him closer to press relentless friction against Pepper’s clit.

“That’s it,” she hisses. “Oh god, Pete, you feel so good.” She’s whining, body writhing. When Peter manages to look up, he can see Pepper’s eyes closed in pleasure, her hair a mess of strawberry-blonde across the pillows. She looks beautiful, and Peter feels awestruck. “Pete, Pete, Peter don’t stop, please,” she moans, and Peter realizes he’s stopped thrusting his fingers.

He moans in an apology and Pepper tightens around his fingers. He flattens his tongue against her clit and lets her grind against it, all the while thrusting his fingers.

“Curl them,” Pepper says. “Your fingers, just a little.” Peter does, feeling clumsy and unsure, but it must work because another wanton noise tears from her throat and her hand in his hair turns almost painfully tight. “Yes,” she sobs. “Close, Peter, I’m close.”

He moans again; his dick is hard, unsurprisingly, and he ruts against the bed as he tries to remember: tongue flat, let Pepper use his mouth how she likes, curl his fingers but only so, thrust in but don’t pull out so far. He adds a third finger when Pepper’s noises start to quiet down and she whines, slamming her free hand up against the headboard.

“Ah, ah, Peter, oh—!” Her face is tucked against the inside of her arm as she finally comes. She spasms around his fingers and holds him still against her clit. Her vagina pulses and the gentle sound of Peter’s fingers thrusting turns sloppy and wet. He rides with Pepper through the aftershocks, continuing to thrust and lick until she pushes him away carefully.

His chin is wet and his jaw is sore and he marvels at the sight of his slick fingers when he finally pulls them out of Pepper. Without thinking, he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Good instincts,” Pepper says with a grin. “C’mere.”

He crawls up her body yet again and kisses her, harder this time. She lets him lead, even if it’s a little awkward and unskilled. His cock presses insistently against her thigh and he feels a little sheepish about it, but mostly desperate, too warm to focus.

She pets his hair; the act is quickly becoming soothing, addictive. “Peter,” she sighs softly. It’s not a disappointed sound, more like an encouraging one, and Peter’s eager to please. “What do you want?” She gently scrapes her nails down his chest then teases her fingers around the base of his cock. She grips him, a loose-fingered hold, before traveling lower to cup his balls and tease the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

Peter chokes on his next inhale. “Anything.” He knows how wide-eyed he looks but it doesn’t seem to deter Pepper.

She guides him beside her on the ridiculously large bed then slides into his lap. Her skin is slick, with come and sweat. Peter bends his knees slightly and Pepper reclines against his legs. She grins at him and the only thing Peter can equate it to is _the cat who got the cream_.

“Is this okay?” She asks after letting him drink his fill. She sits up straighter and poses herself over his erection, holding him by the base with one hand to keep him still.

Peter pushes her hand out of the way and replaces it with his own, nodding. “Ready,” he says, and his voice only shakes a little. He’s about to lose his virginity, and even if he’s never been one to put _too_ much stock in that kind of thing—thanks MJ, for making him listen to all those Ted Talks—it’s still exciting. His heart is hammering in his chest and his cock twitches in his hand.

Pepper holds Peter’s shoulders for leverage as she sinks down. She looks at him intently the entire time, smiling faintly even as Peter can’t keep his own face in an expression under control.

When the tip of his dick slips inside her after only a moment’s resistance, Peter’s mouth drops open. He lets out a low, trembling moan at the feeling of tight, wet heat encasing him, and he only grows louder as she sinks down. It feels like it goes on forever, like he’s being dragged under a current and Pepper is the ocean.

“I’ve got you,” she says softly. She cups the back of his head and plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Doing so good, Peter,” she says. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“God, yes,” he gets out, voice shaking. “Pepper, you feel… fuck, _fuck_.”

Pepper swoops in to kiss him as she finally sinks down, taking him into the hilt, and she swallows his frantic, loud moan. Immediately, she starts to work her hips. She rolls them in tight little circles and Peter bucks his hips in response, meeting her for each and every thrust. His hands find her hips and help her lift up and then help drag her down.

It’s insane, and ridiculous, but Peter can’t believe he never considered his super strength like this.

“Peter, eyes on me,” she tells him, a hand on his chin. She kisses him again and winds her arms around his shoulders. “Ah,” she gasps softly; she bites at his bottom lip. “Gonna come.”

“Again?” He asks even though there’s pleasure building at the base of his spine that means he’s close to coming, too.

Pepper laughs. “You feel good,” she explains. “You’re doing such a good job, Peter.” She kisses him sloppily, trails her lips along his jaw and leans up to kiss his forehead. “I want to feel you,” she whispers. “Want to feel you come inside me.”

Peter grunts. “Oh, Pepper,” he gasps. He thrusts up. Vaguely, he’s aware he’s sliding down against the pillows until his back is flat on the bed and Pepper looms beautifully over him. Her breasts bounce with the rhythm of his thrusts and her nails dig into his chest.

She bends and her hair falls around them in a curtain, hiding them. They’re too far gone to kiss, or at least Peter is, but he enjoys breathing in the scent of Pepper so close, the feeling of her lips grazing his skin. “Peter,” she moans, over and over again, like a chant.

“C’mon, Pep,” he manages to grit out. “Come for me.” And god, it feels ridiculous to say, but hot, too, and something about it must do it for Pepper because she goes tense and still on top of him. She tightens rhythmically around his cock and lets out a soft cry against his lips. She works her hips faster as she grinds against his groin to get friction on her clit.

Pepper presses her forehead to Peter’s and it’s as she’s panting, chest heaving, slickness growing between them from her come, that Peter finally comes. He jerks up one last time and bites his lip on a shout, instead falling silent as he spills deep inside Pepper’s body. She shivers on top of him but nods nonsensically, murmuring things like “That’s it,” and “So good, Peter,” and Peter drinks it all in eagerly.

He melts into the bed eventually and Pepper relaxes with him. She kisses the sweat-slick hollow of his throat.

“I’m gonna wash up real quick,” she tells him eventually. “You want a change of clothes, or…” She sits up and trails a finger down the center of his chest.

“Uh,” Peter says. He’s painfully aware of the blush burning his cheeks.

“I’m not going to change, for what it’s worth.” With that, she swings out of his lap gracefully. Peter sits up to watch her walk into the attached bathroom. Her skin is still flushed from sex and her neck and chest are covered in bite marks he left, and there’s a sticky gleam on the inside of her thighs that makes Peter’s head spin because _he did that._

He finds it in himself to get off the bed too and follow her into the bathroom. As he walks in, she tosses him a washcloth. Pepper grins at him. They stand in front of the double vanity and wipe themselves clean. Pepper grabs a toothbrush, still in plastic packaging, from below the sink and passes it to Peter. He’s got one in the other bathroom, but he knows this toothbrush will stay here, in the master bathroom.

He helps Pepper change the sheets even though they aren’t too dirty, and then they crawl into bed together. Pepper slides close immediately after turning off the bedside lamp and throws an arm over his chest. Even though she’s small, her arm is a protective weight on him. He turns into her embrace and lays his own arm over his waist.

She smiles against his shoulder.

The room is dark. Her breathing evens out quickly and Peter listens to it to calm his own racing heart. His buzz from earlier has long since worn off and even though he’s sated, still reeling from the pleasure, his mind is whirring to life like a machine. If he closes his eyes he sees space, if he inhales through his nose he swears he catches whiffs of Tony’s cologne. If he inhales through his mouth he gets a mouthful of Pepper’s hair which would be funny except he doesn’t want to wake her.

Peter drifts in and out of sleep, restless yet unmoving. He’s not sure how much time has passed when he wakes up to Pepper nipping at his neck. “Huh?”

“Nightmare,” she says, and he doesn’t know if she means his or hers. Either way, she rolls onto her back and tugs him between her thighs.

It’s quick and messy. He misses on his first thrust in and his cock glides against her clit; she reaches down to guide him in and urges him faster, harder, deeper. Peter obeys until the heavy metal headboard is slamming against the wall. He braces a hand above it and holds Pepper’s hip with the other and slams into her relentlessly. She moans into his mouth and drinks in his own. She comes first and gently guides him out, stroking his cock fast and tight until he spills over her clit and labia.

They collapse in a heap on the bed and Peter’s out like a light.

He wakes up in a cold sweat another few hours later and Pepper’s already there, sitting and looming over him with her hair drawn over one shoulder.

“I get it,” she says before bending to kiss him and sliding onto his lap again. They move lazily together; he doesn’t thrust inside but the feeling of Pepper grinding against his hip is enough to bring him off quickly, staining his stomach with come. He rolls her over and gets his head between her thighs again and lets her rut against his tongue until she’s coming around two fingers.

They keep a distance this time, overheated. Pepper extends her hand to the middle of the bed and Peter links their fingers together. This time, Peter sleeps until sun is streaming in from the skylight window above.

“You’re up,” Pepper says. Her voice is gentle but upbeat. She’s got a tray of food in her arms and she’s wearing—Peter chokes slightly—his Midtown Tech shirt. “Morgan is still sleeping.”

She slides into bed gracefully and plucks a piece of bacon. Peter sits up slowly, reaching for the orange juice first. They eat in companionable silence for a while, until Peter feels less awkward and the air feels less tense. He can see it, though, the moment Pepper puts on her “we need to talk about this,” face.

Peter scoots the tray out of the way and leans over to kiss her. Easily, easier than he feels, he says, “I’m going to shower. Then maybe we can wake up Morgan, spend the day on the lake?”

Pepper seems surprised, even as she cups his cheek and kisses him again and says, “Okay.”

Peter nods. “Okay.” He clambers out of bed and slips into the master bathroom, keenly aware of his nudity. He doesn’t shut the bathroom door as he gets into the shower. His brain is buzzing again, like it was late last night. He feels overwhelmed. _I’m not a virgin, I’ve kissed Pepper Potts, I’m naked in Tony Stark’s shower_.

His hand shakes as he reaches for shower gel. He tries to sort through his frenzied thoughts as he opens the bottle and pours a dollop into his palm. It isn’t until he’s lathering it on his body that he’s hit with a sense memory. Stumbling into Tony’s arms, Tony hugging him close, the scent of Tony’s bodywash that’s now covering Peter from head to toe.

He drops the bottle and it hits the tub with a heavy thud.

“Peter?” Pepper’s voice calls over the sound of the shower hitting the tile wall. “Everything okay?” She asks.

Peter stares down at the bottle of bodywash, leaking sluggishly under the running water. Along with it go the suds, rinsing from his body slowly. He doesn't flinch when Pepper opens the glass shower door. She steps inside and wraps her arms around Peter; the Midtown Tech shirt is getting soaked.

He turns in her arms and hugs her back.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I miss him too, it’s okay, Peter.” Her hands stroke his back and he shakes as he cries, quiet and soft. “It’s okay, honey.”

They stay like that until the water runs cold.

He lets Pepper guide him out of the shower eventually and he towels down under her watchful eye. He watches her change into leggings and a dry shirt, and he doesn’t protest when Pepper gets him a pair of sweats and an old Black Sabbath t-shirt from Tony’s side of the closet. Pepper ties her hair up and holds out her hand to Peter.

“Morgan’s waiting,” she says.

He takes her hand and lets her guide him out of the bedroom.

Indeed, Morgan’s waiting in the kitchen, tiny hands curled around a glass of orange juice that Pepper must’ve grabbed before she joined Peter in the shower.

“Peter!” She cries. Peter slips away from Pepper to press a kiss to the top of Morgan’s head.

“Hey,” he says softly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Morgan says. She starts to ramble about her dreams and Peter listens with half an ear. He reaches for a small bowl and the cheerios, since Morgan is eyeing the box like she’ll die without it, and Pepper shoots him a grin.

Morgan trails off once the bowl of cheerios is in front of her, although she still lets out stray random thoughts in between bites.

Pepper leans against the counter beside Peter. “See?” She whispers as Morgan fumbles with her sippy cup. “We’ll be okay.”

Peter takes Pepper’s proffered hand and links their fingers, tight and a little clammy. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “We will.”


End file.
